Medrith scoffed.‘Plunge a kingdom less than a decade removed from the ravages of plague, already reeling from the death of its monarch and a haunting, into civil war?’She shook her head firmly and thumped her staff on the stone floor.‘This sounds a scheme to pit us against one another and drain our strength.Alberon is in thrall to these churchmen, is it not, My Lord?’
The count of Afondir tilted his head and toyed with the golden chain he wore about his neck.‘The King of Alberon has converted, yes, and pays a tithe to the Mortal Church, though I would not say “in thrall to” it.’
‘Perhaps that tithe pays for the services of this inquisitor.’Medrith’s eyes bored into Torin’s.Her gaze still burned as she turned to her son.‘Owyn, you must see this.You will bring an army against Glascoed before you are even crowned, and while our attention and our strength is turned inwards, Alberon will march across the Afondra and anchor warships in the Roaring Bay.Whether they do so in service to the Mortal Church, or in league with them, it matters not.By following the advice of this interloper, we plunge our foot into the hunter’s snare—’
‘Say what you will of Alberon, but the anakriarch is my guest,’ the Count of Afondir cut in.Torin had to mask his surprise—he had not expected the man to come to his defence.Owyn had yet to act on Torin’s accusations against Afondir, but spies circled royal courts like carrion over a fresh kill.Torin had presumed that Afondir knew that his treasonous intent had been revealed, and was simply waiting for an opportunity to turn that knowledge to his advantage.This had seemed an appropriate moment—Afondir might have sided with Medrith and pushed for Torin’s ejection from the kingdom, or worse—yet the count reinforced their connection instead.
‘And,’ Afondir went on, ‘he has done more to address the horror gripping our kingdom than you or your druids, Your Majesty.Perhaps the Old Stones cannot protect us from this—’
‘That is blasphemy!’Medrith snapped.
‘… but the Mortal Church might.’Afondir smiled slightly.‘Where their influence reaches, the world becomes safe from these sorts of terrors.Alberon is untroubled by ghosts and fae, or by monstrous beasts like rimewolves.Troubles that sap our strength and attention.If you are so concerned about falling to a rival kingdom, perhaps consider whether we can afford to ignore the advantages they have already seized upon.’
The queen trembled, her knuckles white around her staff.Shadows gathered around her, and the iron grey of her hair caught the firelight and burned like forge-hot steel.A loss of control in the grip of high fury.Torin tried not to feel smug at her collapse into intemperance.
‘An advantage—if it is such—granted by the sacrifice of our ways,’ she said, biting on each word.‘You would destroy who and what we are, and the powers we know—that belong to us—to buy the favour of foreigners, whose magic we neither understand nor can hope to control.’
‘Our intent is not to weaken Parwys, Your Majesty,’ Torin answered her accusation.‘Our goal is the ennoblement and strengthening of all mortalkind.’
Honest words—for he tried very hard to say nothing that was dishonest, and the people of Parwys would be far stronger, far more noble, far better off under the guidance of the Church, rather than left to the squalid ignorance of these heathen druids and petty monarchs.
‘Do you doubt the ability of our people to learn?’Afondir scoffed, unfazed by the queen’s display.‘And speak for yourself, Your Majesty.We are not all cloistered in our druids’ groves and mountain temples, blind to the ways of the world beyond the Afondra.The Mortal Church has a growing following in my county.One that gives strength and hope to my subjects in these troubled times.One I cannot ignore.’
‘Not everything that gives hope is good,’ Cilbran muttered, his mailed fists still planted on the table.‘Some men light fires thinking only to warm themselves, until the castle burns down.’
‘We seem to have strayed far from our purpose here,’ the Count of Forgard said flatly.He crossed his arms and glared from Afondir to the queen, his curled moustaches twitching in annoyance.A picture of military seriousness in the face of pointless political squabbling.Torin had to admire that demeanour, even if—as it seemed likely to do in this case—it became an obstacle for him.
‘I agree with Her Majesty,’ Forgard went on.‘We would be fools to over-commit and spark conflict with Glascoed.For all we know, Ifan is an unwitting pawn in these fae affairs.Stones, for all we really know, Ifan is a loyal vassal hunting down rebellion in the Greenwood, just as he claimed.I don’t mean to impugn your honour, Sir Torin, nor yours, Eurion.But this is intelligence coming from one churchman to another churchman, with no corroboration beyond its alignment to a few poorly understood facts—Ifan’s departure, the sorceress looking for him, the Church spy’s wounding, and the appearance of the woods witch, or faerie, or whatever we’re calling that woman in the dungeon.’
‘Do you suggest we do nothing, My Lord?’Owyn asked, leaning forward, obviously pleased that someone had put an end to the squabbling.And, it seemed to Torin, impressed and swayed, as young men so often are, by the way Forgard wore courage in his ready posture, sheathed alongside his sword.
‘No, Your Highness,’ Forgard answered.‘I suggest we act with caution.We send an envoy to Glascoed.Summon Ifan back to Parwys.Confront him with the anakriach’s theories and insist that he explain himself.If he refuses to come, we will know more.If he cooperates, we will know more.And meanwhile, Her Majesty and Sir Torin can investigate these fae influences independently.Whatever Ifan does, and whatever that investigation uncovers, our next move will become more certain.Much as I would like to see the haunting end today, ending it by plunging the kingdom into war before we have more information seems foolish.’
‘Unless war proves necessary,’ Afondir countered.
Forgard shrugged.‘In my experience, people lean on “necessity” as a crutch to justify stupidity, or cruelty.These are delicate times, Your Highness.I suggest we move delicately.’
‘Well said,’ Cilbran added, nodding sharply.He pushed off from the table.‘Though I would make a suggestion.The Count of Glascoed is an old friend of Your Highness, is he not?’
‘He is,’ Owyn said.
Cilbran stroked his beard.Contemplating his proposal, or finding the words most likely to sway the prince?Torin felt suddenly disgusted by the arguments of this stupid little court.Clashing, hidden agendas broke against one another like waves, churning the waters to an impenetrable froth.How could any reasonable decision be made through such storms of petty conflict?The clarity of Church authority, of the Ecclesiarch’s will and the exemplar of the Agion, provided not only moral certainty, but efficiency.
‘Then I suggest you come with us, Your Highness,’ Cilbran went on.‘We deal with fae matters in the north.If he is ensorcelled by a geas, better to appeal to him as a friend than from your authority as monarch.Loyalty is truer and stronger than fear.’
‘And if he isn’t loyal?’Afondir cut in.‘If he did not, in fact, return to Glascoed to quash this rebellion, but to lead it?’
Silence fell on the solar, but for the crackling of the fire and the thin, fluting hum that had, from the outset, emanated from the crystal mantelpiece.A wry chuckle threatened to break from Torin, shattering the silence.The sheer irony of those words in Afondir’s mouth was overwhelming.
‘A heavy accusation,’ Owyn said.His gaze flitted to Torin for a breath of a moment before he continued.‘I hope you have enough evidence to support it, or it may fall on your head and crush you, Eurion.’
Afondir smiled.‘I forget, Your Highness, that you have until now neglected to ask how Ifan and I came to arrive in your court together.’
‘I did not think I needed to,’ the prince said.‘You told the court that you hunted bandits together.A stolen shipment of raw iron ore.’
‘Indeed,’ Afondir said.‘But ask yourself why Ifan needed my help in such a task.For the sake of the court, and in his presence, I gave his tale the benefit of the doubt.But I suspect the Count of Glascoed orchestrated the theft himself.’
Owyn’s chair toppled as he stood, its back thundering against the floor.Until now he had presided over the meeting with a quiet, practised dignity—an untested, untempered, and as yet uncrowned monarch leaning on aloofness where strength of personality would fail.
